


Bachelor's Button

by headfirstfrhalos



Category: Twenty One Pilots
Genre: Anachronistic, Fluff, Language of Flowers, M/M, No Angst, Post-Apocalypse, Requited Love, Utopia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-23
Updated: 2018-01-23
Packaged: 2019-03-08 12:55:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,386
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13458711
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/headfirstfrhalos/pseuds/headfirstfrhalos
Summary: There's an old folktale about the cornflower. If the object of your affections doesn't share your feelings, the flower will wilt faster than normal. Josh prays the blossom he pinned on his shirt will stay fresh.





	Bachelor's Button

**Author's Note:**

> This is probably the least painful thing I've ever written

There was a meadow full of wildflowers near Josh's home. The blooms lasted through spring and summer and the air was always sweet with nectar and buzzing with honeybees. His mother had taught him their names, and every week he'd go and pick a generous bunch to sell at the market in the big town some miles away.

Josh tucked a small basket under his arm as he went out to the meadow. Human hands damaged the delicate flowers, and holding them in the wicker basket would preserve the delicate stems. It was a lovely day today. The last traces of the morning's pink and gold had faded to a vibrant blue, deep and clear against the white sun. Songbirds flitted from tree to tree, calling to each other, and off in the distance Josh could hear the creek bubbling in the forest. 

The flowers grew the wildest near the north end of the meadow, closer to the shaded forest where the root-gatherers and hunters worked. Josh had little knowledge of the forest, and preferred the openness of the fields where his family's bees frolicked. But that didn't mean he feared or hated it. 

Josh spotted some daisies and anemone. Those were drier and didn't wilt as quickly as primroses, and he could pick them first. 

He took a delicate pair of brass scissors from the pocket of his loose pants and carefully severed the stems of the flowers he chose, careful not to take too many blossoms from the same plant. Humanity had learned its lesson a long time ago; never take more than the earth can handle.

He remembered crying over picking flowers when he was younger because he knew, even then, that it was killing a part of the plant. His mother had been by his side that day, and hushed him when a small herd of deer wandered out to their meadow. She pointed as they started to eat the flowers, the stems twirling between their lips as they grazed _. It's okay_ , she said.  _Look, the deer eat them, and they've done that for thousands of years. The plants know. They'll forgive you._

There was a rustling further off into the forest. Josh paused, clutching his basket as he listened. Wildcats were common here. 

There was more rustling, and then a series of crashes and a heavy thud. 

Josh stood up straight, peering over the bushes to see who it was.

A young man with tanned skin and grimy hands was lying prone on the ground, surrounded by broken branches. It was Tyler, the trapper's son. He had fallen from a tree.

Josh's heart started beating faster. He would have been helping already had the person been literally anybody else. But Josh was pretty sure he was going to drop his basket from how much his hands were shaking with exhilaration at the sight of Tyler. He averted his eyes and ducked back down behind the bushes that separated them, continuing to awkwardly pluck flowers.

"Josh?" Tyler called. "Is that you?"

Josh bit his lip. So he did know that Josh was there. He stood up and looked at Tyler to find that he was staring right at him.

"Oh, uh, hi, Tyler," Josh said, shifting from foot to foot, hoping he didn't look like an idiot. He tucked his basket under his arm. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah," Tyler said, though he made no move to get up from the ground. "Just a bit winded from falling."

"What were you doing up there?"

"Just scouting. I got bored of root digging and the geese are gonna start migrating soon." 

"Planning on hunting?"

"Yeah. The deer all roamed south this year so we'll have to go after the birds instead. What are you doing here?"

"Just getting some flowers for the market."

Tyler sat up, alarmed. "The market's open today!? Man, I should really clean up, then." 

Tyler looked down at his dirty hands, completely blackened to the elbow with dirt. He was wearing his work clothes, work pants tucked into a pair of soft boots and a thin cotton shirt. He looked wonderful. Josh spotted his basket of wild roots at the foot of the tree he had fallen from. 

"I'm hardly dressed any better. But you're going, too?" Josh asked. 

"Yeah, we have some furs and dried meat that we wanna sell. I lost track of time and I didn't know it was today. I have to go remind my mom."

"We can go together," Josh said, and immediately wanted to stick his foot in his mouth for suggesting something so bold.

Tyler didn't seem affected by his suggestion. "Sure," he said. "It'll take me some time to get cleaned up. I should get everything done by one. We'll meet up at the road?"

Josh nodded, mouth dry. 

Josh's father, their salvaged hand-pulled wagon, and a gallon of honey accompanied Josh on the road to Columbus. Tyler was there with his mother, their wooden wagon loaded with dried meat and furs ready to be made into coats and blankets. There was a small bundle of roots tied in a white cheesecloth on top of it all. 

Tyler was stroking the muzzle of his family's mule when Josh came up to the road. He had bathed and changed into a loose short-sleeved shirt made from an old, pale blue calico bedsheet with mismatched buttons and nicer trousers, held up by suspenders so stretched and worn they were only there as a formality.

The squeaking of the Duns's wagon caught his attention and he turned and grinned at the sight of them. His teeth were a little crooked, having grown up with no dentist in town, but Josh thought it gave his smile character. 

They began walking down the well-worn road, passing other small settlements that constituted their town. It was a five-mile ride to the city on Josh's father and Tyler's mother idly chatted about the wind turbine that the Lee family was planning to make out of the scrap metal they smithed.  _Do you have any idea how much power it can make? Really? We could give electricity to the whole village if we had another. You're right, that would take a lot of work but I think it would be worth it._

Josh's hands were full with his basket of flowers, a small ball of string and his scissors in his pocket, and several yards of brown paper. He chose a variety of flowers from the basket and tied them together with string and paper before setting it down in the wagon his father was pulling. Flowers weren't as useful as fur or meat or metal, but people were still willing to trade for them. They fed the soul.

"Hey, um, do you want me to hold something?" Tyler asked. "You look like you're having some trouble. I feel bad for just walking with the wagon here."

"Oh, sure. Could you just hold the basket?"

Tyler held his hand out, and Josh could see tiny flecks of dirt still trapped under his rounded fingernails. Josh stopped staring and passed the faded wicker basket over and his hands brushed Tyler's, and wow, they were pretty soft for someone who spent his days hunting and gathering. He was gripped with the urge to grab it and stroke his silky skin, but he forced himself to let go and instead start selecting flowers from the basket to tie. He could feel the warmth of Tyler's body each time he reached for them. He ached to touch him, wrap his arms around his torso and rest his head on his skinny shoulders and finger the worn fabric of his shirt. Still, he restrained himself and kept making bouquets. He should be able to make about six little ones, which could get them something sizeable.

They reached Columbus within the hour. Josh didn't really understand why anyone would want to live in the ruins of the great city, aside from the close proximity of the marketplace. No one owned the giant expanse of faded, crumbling asphalt, once a parking lot for a now-razed shopping mall, and there was no one to charge them for stopping to sell their wares straight from their wagons. He had never experienced the old world and had no desire to do so. Humans did just fine without factories or office buildings or money or nuclear weapons.

There were several other honey peddlers in the marketplace today, but there was little competition. Honey was in great demand, more so than sugarcane or beets or even maple syrup, and Josh watched as his father managed to get them six yards of lavender cloth, a dozen yellow candles, a head of cabbage, and so much more out of just twenty small jars of honey.  

Tyler was sitting on the wagon, idly stroking a deer's hide as he watched people sift through the furs and roots.  _How much is this?_ someone would ask, and Tyler would give them a coy little smile and demand, ever so sweetly, much more than what the fur was really worth and no one argued. It was absolutely horrible and Josh found himself captivated.

"You're killing them," Josh said after Tyler managed to ply an entire bar of soap out of a few cured chunks of wild boar.

Tyler smiled again, and it was his real one, the one that was so wide it was nearly a grimace, and he shrugged.

"Hey, I'm not forcing them to take those prices. They have every right to haggle."

"You'll be the richest man in Ohio if you keep it up. You won't even need to keep hunting."

"Eh, we don't need to be rich. Just comfortable. And I want to keep working, you know? It gives me something to do."

An old woman who smelled of sage approached him and now Josh turned to talk to her.  _Hi, d'you want one? Yeah, I'll take the incense. Keep a quarter of it if you'll give me some matches. Thank you_.

The woman gave Josh a gummy grin as she plucked one of the flowers from her bouquet and reached to stick it through his top buttonhole. Josh looked down and saw that it was a cornflower. She winked at him and disappeared into the crowd, leaving Josh behind with a small bundle of sweet-smelling incense and a bachelor's button in his shirt.

He remembered a tale his grandfather told him when he was still alive _. It's called bachelor's button because way back when, young men who were in love would pin one of 'em to their shirt. If it wilted too fast, it meant that their sweetheart didn't love them back._

"I like your flower," Tyler said, pointing at his lapel. He had seen the entire interaction. "What's it called? I'm no good with flowers. Just the stuff under them."

"Thanks," Josh said, trying not to blush. He poked the pistil of the flower. "It's a cornflower."

"I like it. The color suits you."

_Nice. Does he realize what it means? Did that old lady know? Dad definitely does, so thank god he's napping. I wonder how long this thing will last, especially in this heat. I don't know what I'll do if Tyler doesn't like me._

A bell began to chime, the sound emanating from what used to be an old church several blocks away. Josh counted the rings and realized that it was time to eat. He got up from the stone bench he had been sitting on and began rummaging through the little wagon, setting aside the honey and other wares they've acquired and finding the little package wrapped in cloth. There was grilled corn mash seasoned with honey, a small apple, and the last shreds of the five-legged rabbit his family bought from the Josephs several days ago. He carefully set aside enough for his father and went back to the bench to eat. Using his bare hands felt unsanitary after handling so many wares, but the utensils were too valuable to take with them on the road.

A shadow appeared over him and Josh looked up to see Tyler settling down next to him with his own lunch: a small container of beans, a handful of wild berries and raw mushrooms, and a few slices of headcheese (the Josephs rarely ate their own wares). 

"You want a berry?" Tyler asked, holding up a lumpy blueberry. Josh nodded and held out his hand.

"No, wait, open your mouth," he said, and continued when Josh gave him a puzzled look. "Just trust me."

Josh complied and opened his mouth, and he could see Tyler aiming to throw the berry. He tossed it, and the blueberry hit him on the chin and bounced into the dirt.

"Whoops," Tyler said, reaching for another. "Let me try again."

"Come on," Josh protested. "We're wasting food."

"Alright, you're right. Lemme just give it to you, then. Get your mouth open again."

Tyler carefully placed another blueberry on his tongue. Josh desperately hoped that he couldn't see how his breathing was starting to shake with excitement. His hand was  _right there_.

Tyler finally removed his hand after what seemed like an eternity, and Josh closed his mouth, teeth breaking through the thin skin of the berry, sweetness bursting over his tongue.

"Thanks," Josh said once he swallowed the fruit. "Do you want some of my corn mash?"

The flower was still fresh when he got home. He carefully removed it from his shirt and set it down on his nightstand in a glass of water before he went to sleep.

* * *

The next day was Sunday. Bath day, and church day.

The flower, much to Josh's amazement, still hadn't wilted. Flowers lasted longer than they used to, but Josh had never seen a flower that hadn't shriveled at least a little bit overnight. He wasn't sure if he really believed the old folk tale about the cornflower, but he was desperate for any sign that Tyler liked him back. He'd put it in his shirt once he was clean and see if Tyler noticed it.

There was plenty of water this year, so the whole family wouldn't have to share, but there was still only one tub and the youngest always went first. Being the oldest of four meant he had a long wait. Plenty of time to pick out his clothes.

The little wooden trunk at the foot of his bed contained all his clothes: four shirts, a jacket, and three pairs of pants. Most of his clothes were for work, and it showed: there were mended holes and odd little stains everywhere, and they all went unironed and unstarched. But his Sunday clothes were kept in much better condition. His Sunday outfit consisted of a black shirt and fitted trousers, too fine to wear while beekeeping or flower-picking. Josh pushed his other clothes aside to retrieve them from the bottom of the trunk and laid them out on his bed. He rubbed the back of his neck, feeling grimy.

He finally managed to get in the tub, and he grabbed hold of their ancient sea sponge and lathered it up with lye soap, thoroughly cleaning himself and scrubbing his elbows and the backs of his ears especially well. He soaped up his hair with the milder soap, praying to God it didn't get too frizzy once it dried.

He toweled off and put on his clothes, feeling the fabric settle perfectly against him. Like most people in the area, he hadn't grown much since his fifteenth birthday, and had no reason to buy a new set of Sunday clothes, and after two years the pants had gone soft at the knees and the collar was comfortable against his neck.

He took the flower from its glass and stuck it in the front pocket of his shirt. He gathered his bible and the family's tithe and went out the door.

Jordan complained at his slowness.  _Took you long enough._

 _Looks t_ _his good need time to be maintained,_ and Josh smoothed down his curls again. Jordan reached over and messed them up and Josh squawked, rumpling his shirt as he wrestled himself away.

 _Hey_ , his mother warned.  _Don't_.

They left each other alone.

The church was only a quarter of a mile away, in the very center of town, and the rest of the small village had gathered. Josh turned his head back and forth, trying to find the Josephs, but he couldn't see any of them.

They entered the chapel, Josh setting down the tithe of honeycomb on the large table in front of the church's kitchen where everyone else had left their own offerings to be prepared by the staff during the sermon.

They sat down together as a family, Josh wedged between his mother and his sister Abigail. She flicked the flower and Josh flicked her shoulder in return. It was warm inside, but cooler than his own house thanks to the adobe walls of the chapel. Everyone was talking amongst themselves, the low burbling resonating in the steepled ceiling and filling the air with sound.

The pastor was old and frail but his voice still managed to fill the room. _If among you, one of your brothers should become poor, in any of your towns within your land that the Lord your God is giving you, you shall not harden your heart or shut your hand against your poor brother, but you shall open your hand to him and lend him sufficient for his need, whatever it may be. And blessed are the poor in spirit: for theirs is the kingdom of Heaven. But what does this mean? What are our duties as human beings, as members of social, spiritual, and ecological communities?_

He finally spotted Tyler on the other side of the room, sitting in a pew near the back with the rest of his family. They must have been late, and their eyes met. Tyler waved at Josh, and Josh could see the flash of light against his teeth as he grinned. Josh gave him a thumbs up and found Jordan sniggering at him when he looked back. He elbowed him, hard enough that he squeaked and a few others in the congregation gave them the side-eye.

Church was not about preaching so much as it was about talking. The sermons were short, thirty minutes at the longest because the pastor had a particular talent for being concise and timely. Josh was grateful for that. His legs were itching to wander by the forty-five minute mark. The congregation dispersed for the communal noontime meal, made up of all the food everyone had brought. Long benches constructed of old slabs of plastic had been dragged outside, and a large series of blue construction tarps strung from the trees made shade. Bees flitted around everyone, but Josh wasn't concerned about them. They knew him and neither of them would hurt the other.

"How do you stand it?" Tyler asked, plopping down next to Josh with a plate. Tyler had a boiled potato coated in salt and pepper, two quail's eggs, baked collard greens and a hunk of rye bread.

"Stand what?" Josh asked, biting into his apple.

"The bees," Tyler said, flinching away from one when it buzzed near his face. One landed on his plate and seemed interested in his collard greens.

"They won't hurt you," Josh said, holding out his finger to the bee on Tyler's plate. It wiggled at him before climbing on, and he slowly moved his hand back to himself and studied its wings, thin and slightly crinkled like the thinnest sheets of cellophane. It turned around a couple times before noticing his flower and landing on it.

"See?" Josh asked, pointing at his chest. "They're domesticated anyways, they don't like to sting, not like they did before. I guess it's just genetic memory."

"I guess you're not scared of them," Tyler said. "You spend all your time around them. How many times have you been stung?"

"Uh, I got stung a lot when I was a little kid," Josh said. "Not anymore. It hurts less every time they sting you, you know."

The bee took off again, disappearing into the sky.

"I don't think I have the patience for that," Tyler said, swatting away a fly. He ate the quail egg in one bite.

It was hard to discriminate between the warmth of the air and the warmth of Tyler's body, but Josh was glad to be near him all the same. He hadn't said anything about the flower yet, but Josh didn't want to point it out either. Instead, he ate and tried not to stare.

"Hey, Josh," Tyler said. "Do you think I should try out for the choir?"

"You want to?"

Sometimes Tyler worked near the edge of the woods to dig for roots, and that was when he'd sing. Josh first heard it when he was thirteen, and thought it was fairies because he couldn't see who was singing as Tyler knelt in the dirt. He seldom heard it, as Tyler spent most of his time having to stalk animals in silence, and the thought of him being able to hear it every week made something in him vibrate excitedly.

"Yeah," Tyler said. "I don't know. I definitely have the time to do it."

"Well," Josh said, trying to keep his enthusiasm contained, "I think you should. I mean, it's something to do, and you'll get to spend more time in town."

"You're right," Tyler said, taking a bite of his rye bread and making a satisfied noise. "This stuff is good. Say, are you free later this Tuesday?"

Uh.

Josh swallowed his food.

"Yeah," he said. "Why?"

"You want to go fishing? Jenna said the fishing was good this year, she caught this giant trout a few days ago. It was this big."

Tyler stretched out his arms to show Josh the size and nearly smacked someone in the leg as they walked by.

"Uh, I don't know how to fish," Josh said.

"Neither do I. We'll figure it out. So do you wanna go?"

"Yeah, definitely," Josh said, even though he didn't actually know if he had time off on Tuesday.

The flower was still fresh when he got home. Josh didn't know how hopeful he should be.

* * *

 

Josh spent Monday tending to the bees. He checked their boxes for parasites and wasps and found them clear. The hive was getting big, and he knew they'd be swarming soon. There was nothing his family could do during that time. They simply had to hope that some of the queens would choose to stay in the boxes while the others would go out and build hives elsewhere, usually in the forest where they got to bother Tyler. Josh hoped he thought of him every time he saw one of their bees.

There was no need to smoke these bees. Used to human contact after dozens of generations depending on them for shelter and flowers, Josh could stick his hand straight into the hive and come away unharmed. Josh sat down on the grass, cross-legged, letting the bees crawl all over his corduroy shirt and inspect the cornflower that was still on his shirt. One of them tried to crawl into the loose, rolled-up sleeves of his shirt and he shook it out. He could hear them buzzing in his ears and the faint weight of them resting on his curls and stumbling over the smooth surface of the small gold earrings in his earlobes, the metal scavenged from computer chips and ostentatious jewelry and made into simple spheres meant to be worn by firstborn children and presented at his birth. 

Josh pulled a sock from the sewing bag he had taken with him outside, along with the tin containing needles and thread. Years of being the family mender had left his fingers deft and capable. He had worn a hole into his left sock again. There was a handkerchief, his father's shirt, and Abigail's favorite olive-green pants, which she had managed to tear at the knees again after roughhousing at school. His mother fretted about the dirt, but Josh preferred to do his mending outside.

He leaned against the bee box and threaded the little needle with white cotton thread, taking out his brass flower-scissors and, cutting and knotting the end. He picked up his sock and began to work as the bees buzzed around him. There wasn't much mending to do, but he worked slowly so his fingers and eyes wouldn't ache afterwards, occasionally taking a break to stare up at the sky. It grew bluer and bluer by the year. Some people in the big cities had found a way to put the oxygen back in it and clean out all the dirt and radiation. He had yet to be able to see the Milky Way unless he borrowed a telescope, but Jenna's parents, still researching away on Mount Wilson, promised that it would once again be visible in the next five years, and the planets in less than three. 

He ought to save up so he could trade someone for a telescope for when that time came. He could go stargazing with Tyler. That sounded nice.

* * *

Tuesday. The flower was, miraculously, not wilted. Josh held it reverently and carefully placed it in his buttonhole. Maybe Tyler would ask him about it while they were in their little rowboat and Josh would get to tell him, and maybe, just maybe, kiss him. That's what the flower's freshness meant, right?

Josh went over to the lake after dinner. Jenna and her aunt were weaving a net on the floating pier installed on the lake, using rope bought from the weaver who bought the fiber from the grain farmer. The lake was fed by the stream that ran through the forest and he could hear its water faintly rushing as it flowed into the deep lake. Jenna once got on a rowboat and dropped a weight tied to a string in the middle of the lake to see how deep it was, and said that she had run out of line before it hit the bottom. God knows what lurked in the depths.

He had borrowed one of her spare fishing poles for the excursion, and he had a small tin bucket of freshwater clams and a small silver knife. He sat down on the sandy beach, shucking them one by one, wrenching the shells open and tugging out a salty tongue between two hard lips. Every once in a while, he'd eat one.

"Hey!" someone shouted.

Josh turned to see Tyler walking up to the lake, carrying a bucket and a lantern. Josh waved as Tyler came over and sat down next to him.

"Getting the bait ready?" Tyler asked.

"Yeah. I think I have enough now. Do you wanna head to the boat?"

The boat was a small canoe, twelve feet long, with a pole and a hook on the end for a lantern for night fishing. Tyler pulled out a pack of matches and struck one, lighting the lantern and hanging it above his head. They had borrowed two fishing poles from Jenna. Josh had already poked himself twice with his hook.

"Here, lemme do that," Tyler said, reaching across the boat to take the rod. Josh gave it to him happily, sucking away the small bead of blood that rose to the pad of his finger.

Tyler's hands moved nimbly in the low, golden light, and Josh watched as he easily tied the knot and baited the hook, passing the rod back to him.

"Thanks," Josh said.

"Fishing, trapping, it's basically the same thing," Tyler said, and Josh knew he was showing off. "Are we gonna cast now?"

"We don't have to do it at the same time," Josh said. "I'll go first."

Okay. Jenna said he had to unlock the line, and then hold the upper part of the pole with his dominant hand and the lower part with his other. Then he'd wind back and flick the rod. He did this and cast the line, sending the bait flying through the air and landing towards the deep middle of the lake with a faint splash.

"Nice," Tyler said. "My turn."

Tyler forgot to unlock his line and ended up smacking himself in the face with his bait. Josh didn't miss the scowl on his face, but he laughed anyways.

"What did I do wrong?" Tyler asked, looking over the pole.

"Unlock the line," Josh said, reaching over to pull the little tab. Their fingers brushed. "There."

"Thanks," Tyler said, and successfully cast his line, sending the bait near Josh's.

They dropped the rods through the metal loops installed in the side of the canoe meant to hold the poles while they waited for a bite.

"And now we wait," Josh said, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. This was going to get awkward if neither of them said anything. He cursed himself, wishing he'd thought to bring a book or something interesting for them to talk about.

"Hey, isn't that the same flower from before?" Tyler asked, pointing out Josh's flower. He reached out and took it from his shirt, and Josh could feel the warmth of his hands through the fabric.

"Oh?" Josh asked, looking at his chest. "Yeah, it is."

"How hasn't it wilted? It's been, like, a week."

Okay. Okay. This was good. Tyler was talking. Josh would tell Tyler the story, and then maybe they'd get to kiss.

"There's a-- uh, there's a story about them, actually," Josh began. "They're cornflowers, but some people call them bachelor's button because if you were, if you were in love with someone, you'd put it in your shirt, like this."

Josh plucked the flower from Tyler's hands and returned it to his lapel. He didn't miss the way Tyler's eyes followed his hands.

"Then you'd wait. If the flower wilted too fast, it meant that the person you liked didn't love you back."

"And if it doesn't wilt?" Tyler asked, and his voice was soft.

Josh swallowed. "Uh, they don't really say, but I guess it means they love you too."

Tyler looked up from the flower and at Josh's face. He had gotten a bit closer and if Josh leaned forward a few more inches he'd--

"Do you like me, Josh?" Tyler asked.

"Yeah," Josh said, his voice hardly higher than a whisper.

"Good. Was that flower for me?"

"Yes. Does that mean you--"

"Uh-huh. A while. Years, actually."

The crickets sang. Water lapped against the side of the canoe. Josh could hear Tyler's soft breathing, and feel it on his skin.

"Can we-- can we kiss?" Josh asked.

"Please."

Josh closed his eyes and closed the distance between them.

Josh worked hard to keep himself from smiling madly into the kiss, victory blossoming in his chest. Tyler smelled like soap, and there was the lingering scent of the sweet corn he must have bought from the Ahmeds. His lips were kept soft with the beeswax the Duns sold. Tyler's hand came up Josh's arm, lightly skating over the bare skin where Josh had rolled up his sleeves and towards his shoulder, grounding him there.

Josh was about to do the same when he heard a sudden, rapid clicking and the boat jerked to the side. They broke away to see that Josh's line was unreeling madly, the flexible tip of the pole trembling. They had a bite.

"Josh-- Josh, that's your pole! Get it!" Tyler shouted, and Josh scrambled to grab his rod and start reeling in the fish. He felt the fish struggle, and he reeled the line in as it pulled taut.

There was a moment of resistance and Josh could feel the fish trying to tug itself free. The line snapped and Josh fell back into the canoe, nearly capsizing the small vessel with his momentum.

"What happened?" Tyler asked, helping Josh up.

"It got away," Josh said, holding up the broken end of the line.

Tyler started laughing, the delightful sound bouncing over the water, and Josh couldn't help but join in too.

 

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed this! Any feedback would be very, very appreciated!


End file.
